


The Trouble with Bruises

by Fledgling



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Frottage, Injury, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 09:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledgling/pseuds/Fledgling
Summary: There were risks that came with being a Rainbow operative. Injury was the second highest on the list, only beaten out by death itself. It was a risk Timur was aware of and had accepted, long ago. He thought Maxim had as well.Clearly, he was wrong.(Well, at least partially).Or: Timur gets injured on a mission, and Maxim is very unhappy about it.





	The Trouble with Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so: the whole first half of this story is more or less an accident that happened because I wanted to give a background as to why Glaz was injured. It just kinda—spiraled out of control from there. But here it is, I guess!
> 
> Also why do I enjoy hurting the characters I write? First Mute and now Glaz; poor boys.

It wasn’t often that Timur visited America, but when he did, it was always for work.  
  
A White Mask cell had taken over a university, targeting one of the professors—Dr. Patricia Long—and taking her hostage. Why her was yet unknown; hopefully she’d be able to provide some answers once rescued.  
  
The team Rainbow had sent was gathered at the very edges of the campus, mixed in with the rest of the first responders to not alert the terrorists. It was only five of them: Yumiko, Grace, Elias, Seamus, and Timur. A solid team, Timur thought, watching the others do final checks on their equipment.  
  
“You know,” Elias commented as he checked the mechanisms on his shield, “the White Masks keep targeting universities, but they don’t seem to be getting any smarter for it.”  
  
The comment got a few chuckles out of the other operatives, and Elias smiled as he strapped the shield to his arm.  
  
“Everyone ready to go then?” Yumiko asked, looking between them. They all nodded, and she took a deep breath.  
  
“Alright, here’s the plan,” she started, turning towards the building the White Masks had seized. “Blitz and Sledge, you two are going to enter through the basement, and work your way up. There’s a door on the south side that will let you in. I’ll enter from the roof,” she pointed to the top of the building, “and work my way through the second floor.”  
  
“Glaz,” she turned and pointed to another building, connected to the first via a glass bridge, “I want you on the roof of that building, you should be able to access it through the stairs. Take out anyone you see through the windows. Once the basement and second floor are clear, I want you to move in and regroup with us on the first floor.”  
  
“Dokkaebi,” Yumiko turned to the woman who was sitting in the back of a SWAT van, staring at her tablet, “how’re those cams coming?”  
  
“We should have eyes in the building in just a few more minutes, two tops,” Grace answered, her eyes never leaving the screen.  
  
Timur turned to one of the policemen standing nearby.  
  
“How many people did you say were in the building?” he asked.  
  
“Somewhere between twelve and fifteen,” one of them answered. “That’s from accounts from first responders and civilians.”  
  
“Sounds about right,” Seamus sighed.  
  
“Since when are the odds ever in our favor?” Elias asked, nudging Seamus with his elbow.  
  
“Let’s get going then.”  
  
They made their way through the crowd of people and vehicles, splitting off towards their different destinations. Timur entered his building and quickly found the stairs, climbing until he was at the top. The door to the roof clearly didn’t get much use, and groaned loudly when he pushed it open. He crouched and made his way towards the edge, stopping behind a large air duct. He raised his rifle, flipping the thermal sight over, and looked down the scope.  
  
Several of the building’s windows were open, their blinds pulled up to let as much of the spring air in as possible. It certainly made Timur’s job easier as he swept his scope over them, looking for any sign of movement or flash of yellow. There wasn’t any, and he frowned.  
  
“No sign of hostiles,” he said into the comms.  
  
“We’ve had three in the basement so far,” Seamus said. “All taken out.”  
  
Timur focused back on the windows. Still nothing, but he was a patient man.  
  
“Contact, second floor!” Yumiko announced, and there was a bark of gunfire. It lasted only a few seconds, and Timur waited.  
  
“That’s two more down,” Yumiko said. “Continuing to check the second floor.”  
  
Movement caught Timur’s attention, and he aimed down his rifle. Three figures, highlighted in yellow, were standing by one of the few closed windows. As he watched two of them moved away, leaving the third alone.  
  
“You’ve got company, Hibana,” he warned. “Three White Masks, west side of the building. Two have moved out of my sight, probably headed for you.”  
  
“Right. The third?”  
  
“Leave him to me.”  
  
Timur took a deep breath, adjusted his aim ever so slightly, and pulled the trigger.  
  
The window shattered with the impact, and the White Mask he had been aiming at fell over with a thud. At the same time there was more gunfire, echoing between the buildings. Timur waited, watching to see if anyone would come to check on the fallen man.  
  
“Hostiles neutralized,” Yumiko said, slightly out of breath. “Glaz?”  
  
“All visible targets neutralized,” he answered.  
  
“Good. Blitz, Sledge?”  
  
“Basement all clear,” Elias whispered after a pause. “Moving to first floor.”  
  
“Acknowledged. Glaz, go ahead and move in as well.”  
  
Timur returned the way he came, taking the stairs two at a time. He stopped just outside the door, considering the best way to enter the other building.  
  
“Alright,” Grace announced triumphantly, “I’ve got their cams. I’ll start scanning the first floor.”  
  
“Good job,” Yumiko said.  
  
Timur crept towards the building, keeping his eyes on the windows for any sign of movement. He pressed himself against the wall of the building and took a deep breath, moving over to one of the windows and glancing inside. There was no one to be seen, and he hooked his fingers into the window, testing to see if it would open. It did, to his surprise, and he lifted it up enough for him to slip through.  
  
The room was silent as he entered, and he crouched low, making his way towards the door. The evening sun didn’t reach more than a couple of feet into the room and darkness made it hard to see, but Timur could at least make out the shapes of furniture, enough that he didn’t bump into anything.  
  
“Hostage located, first floor,” Grace announced. “Looks like they’re in some sort of library, west side of the building.”  
  
“How many?” Seamus asked.  
  
“I see three, but there could be more. There’s a blind spot on one of these cams, I can’t see the whole hallway.”  
  
Timur gripped the handle of the door to the room he was in, turning it slowly. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t there. He opened the door inch by inch, keeping his eye on the hallway he could see more and more of. Once the door was open enough for him to move through he stopped, pulling out his pistol and waiting. Still no sound, and so he slipped out of the room, making his way down the hall.  
  
“It’s going to be on your left, Glaz.”  
  
Timur nodded, knowing Grace was watching him through the hacked cams. There was a door at the end of the hallway that was slightly open, allowing light and quiet voices to escape through it. Timur pressed himself against the wall out of sight, switching back to his rifle.  
  
“Hibana, you’re right on top of them. Blitz, you and Sledge need to take a right at the top of the stairs.”  
  
“Once they get into position,” Yuimko said, “I want you to deploy one of your logic bombs, Dokkaebi. I’ll open up part of the ceiling; Sledge, you and Blitz will enter from your side, while Glaz covers the other. Let me know when you’re in position.”  
  
“Okay, we’re ready,” Elias said a few seconds later.  
  
“Alright, time to ring some ears. Dokkaebi?”  
  
There was a pause, and then the room was filled with a buzzing sound as every phone in the vicinity started to vibrate. The voices stopped, and Timur readjusted his grip on his rifle.  
  
“Now, go!”  
  
Timur approached the door slowly as he heard both the crack of a wall breaking open and boom of the ceiling exploding. There was an uproar, people shouting as they scrambled for their weapons. Timur nudged the door open a bit wider, lifting his rifle and peering through the scope.  
  
There were three of them that he could see, two of them facing the hole Seamus had made in the far wall and the third aiming upwards where Yumiko had blown part of the ceiling away. The hostage was mostly hidden behind an overturned desk in the far corner, sobbing uncontrollably. Timur aimed at the White Mask watching for Yumiko, pulling the trigger and watching as he fell forward. One of the remaining two turned to see what had happened, but quickly turned back as a bullet from Elias’ pistol embedded in the plush chair he was using as cover.  
  
Timur began to line up another shot when something rammed into him, knocking the breath out of him and sending him to the floor, his rifle flying from his hands. He looked up and saw another White Mask towering over him; he was at least Seamus’ size if not bigger, and Timur scrambled for his pistol. Hands closed around his neck and he grit his teeth, using his free hand to try and pry off one of them.  
  
“Struggle if you want,” the White Mask rasped. He sounded far too happy with the current situation. “You’ll die like anyone else.”  
  
The hands tightened, and Timur started to see spots in his vision. He was distantly aware of a voice in his ear, but there was a ringing sound that was even louder. He abandoned his search for his pistol and instead grabbed for his knife, pulling it free from its sheath and bringing it up, dragging the blade along the larger man’s unprotected throat. Blood poured from the wound, splashing onto Timur and making him incredibly thankful for the mask he wore. The White Mask was suddenly yanked away from him and he gasped, coughing as he tried to get as much air as possible into his lungs.  
  
“You alright?” Elias asked, kneeling next to him. Seamus dropped the White Mask unceremoniously to the floor, shaking his head in disgust.  
  
“I’ll be,” Timur took another deep breath, “I’ll be fine. The hostage?”  
  
“Safe and sound,” Seamus said, walking over to them and offering Timur and hand up. “You might want to, ah—” Seamus gestured to his face, and Timur pulled his mask off as Seamus pulled him up. It was soaked with blood.  
  
“I liked that mask,” he said mournfully.  
  
Elias chuckled and pat him on the back.  
  
“We’ll get you a new one, don’t worry. Right after the medics take a look at you and our friend here,” he said, gesturing to the hostage Yumiko was trying—and only somewhat succeeding—to reassure.  
  
Timur nodded, glancing at the limp body of the White Mask that had attacked him. Seamus tapped his shoulder and broke him from his thoughts, and he followed the man out to where the first responders were waiting. Grace was pacing restlessly in front of the SWAT van, but stopped once she saw them filing out of the building.  
  
“Timur! Are you alright?” Grace asked. “I didn’t see that one anywhere on the cams—and he was so big! I don’t know how I missed him.”  
  
“I’m alright, yes. He was probably in the blind spot.”  
  
Grace frowned, but stepped aside to let one of the medics look him over.  
  
“There’s no lasting damage,” the medic—Joyce—told him once she was done looking at him, “but there will be some nasty bruising for a while.”  
  
Timur nodded, fighting down the urge to touch his neck. There was already a throbbing pain starting under his skin, and he knew it would only get worse from there.

\-----

Timur could feel the eyes on him the second he stepped into the room. They pierced through him, burned and left an uncomfortable prickling sensation across his skin. He sighed, continuing towards his room and steadfastly ignoring the way the eyes tracked his path.  
  
It had been like this for a week now.  
  
No matter where Timur went, Maxim seemed to be there, or was there shortly after. He never said a word, simply watched Timur with an intensity that scorched him to the core. He had tried to talk to the other, get him to explain his fixation, but each time he had been met with silence and that glare until one of them left or someone else interrupted them.  
  
It wasn’t like Timur didn’t know what the cause was. He knew _exactly_ what the source of the problem was; he just didn’t know _why_ it was a problem to begin with. They got hurt all the time—it was just the nature of their jobs. And yet for some reason, the ring of bruises around Timur’s neck seemed to be driving Maxim to some extreme of madness he didn’t understand.  
  
“This is getting out of hand,” he said to Alexsandr one evening after Maxim had left the room, finished glaring at Timur for the moment.  
  
“Have you tried talking to him?”  
  
Timur fixed him with a blank stare.  
  
“It’s _Maxim_. What do you think?”  
  
Alexsandr had hummed, taking a drink from his beer and staring at the hockey game on the TV without really watching it.  
  
“He is upset about you getting injured,” he started after a moment, “though he has never been before, at least not to this extent. What has changed, between the last time you were hurt and now?”  
  
Timur frowned, thinking back to the last time he had been injured. It didn’t happen too often; being a sniper often kept him away from the enemy, the only threat those bold enough to try and run out at him or other snipers. The last time he had been injured was several months ago, when an enemy sniper had sunk a bullet into his side, only a few inches from hitting his lungs. Maxim had been furious then too, but he had been very vocal in his displeasure, rather than silent.  
  
That bullet had set off a chain reaction between them: not just the two of them, but Alexsandr and Shuhrat as well. They had all kept him company while he was stuck on medical leave, sometimes all three of them but usually only one or two, and it had been during one of the nights where the pain wouldn’t let Timur sleep Shuhrat had kissed him. He had stayed up late working on his cluster charges and had noticed Timur was still up when he called it a night. They had talked for a while, and as Shuhrat was getting ready to leave for his own bed Timur had something—he barely remembered what it was now. Shuhrat had kissed him, soft and sweet, and then fled the room as soon as he realized what he had done.  
  
Shuhrat hadn’t been able to look him in the face the next morning, not until Timur grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to kiss him. Maxim and Alexsandr has been very confused, though when Timur explained the situation it switched to amusement.  
  
“I can’t believe you started kissing Timur without us,” Maxim had said, before leaning down and stealing a kiss from Timur himself.  
  
Apparently, him getting shot and nearly dying was a good catalyst for the rest of them having a heart-to-heart while waiting for him to get out of surgery. They had talked about it and realized that, while they may have all started out as good friends, they all also felt something much stronger than that towards each other now. Timur had been the only one out of the loop, and they had just been waiting for the right time to talk to him about it.  
  
“We were pretty sure you felt the same,” Shuhrat had said, running his fingers through Timur’s hair, “but, well—”  
  
“Shuhrat just couldn’t be patient.”  
  
And now here they were: happily together, save for Maxim, who wouldn’t stop being upset long enough to talk to any them about it. Timur’s thoughtful silence was enough of an answer for Alexsandr, who wrapped an arm around him and pulled him against his side.  
  
“He probably just doesn’t know how to express his...concern. Not in a way he feels is fitting anyway,” he said. Timur sighed, leaning his head against his shoulder.  
  
“I’ll see if I can get him to talk tomorrow.”

\-----

Tomorrow came, and Timur woke earlier than he usually did, unable to sleep well with the thoughts occupying his mind. The coffee pot was already on when he made his way into the kitchen, Shuhrat sitting at the table scrolling through his phone with a cup full of the dark liquid.  
  
“Morning,” Shuhrat greeted, leaning up into the kiss Timur pressed to his cheek as he walked by.  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Cup, coffee, cream, and there was Maxim, leaning against the doorframe and watching him. Timur tried to ignore him, just as he had the whole time, and failed, just as he had the whole time.  
  
“Do you want a cup?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of his own cup as he stirred the cream in. He could see Shuhrat from the corner of his vision, pretending to still read on his phone. After a minute of tense silence Shuhrat stood, taking his cup and leaving the room without a word. Timur stared at the counter, waiting to see if Maxim would move.  
  
He didn’t.  
  
With a groan Timur pushed himself off the counter, turning and glaring back at Maxim.  
  
“What is the problem?” he hissed. “Is it that I got injured? Or is it something else?”  
  
More silence. Timur could feel anger bubbling up his throat, and he pushed it down. Getting angry would only create more problems.  
  
“Damnit, Maxim,” Timur stormed over to him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling until there was only an inch of space between their faces.  
  
“Talk to me,” he whispered, “please. Stop running away from me.”  
  
Maxim finally moved, one of his hands rising to gently touch one of the bruises on Timur’s neck. He traced the line of them, his eyes following the path his fingers made.  
  
“I hate them.”

Timur inhaled sharply. Maxim’s voice was rougher than normal, as if he had spent the last several days shouting rather than silent.  
  
“I hate that you got hurt. I hate that I couldn’t protect you. I hate that someone thought they had the right to leave marks on you. I hate that I want to cover each and every one of these marks with my teeth until the only bruises you have are ones  
I’ve put there.”  
  
_Oh_.  
  
Timur stared at him, taking in the information he had just been given. Maxim had stopped staring at his hand and was staring at Timur’s face now, the intensity of his gaze making Timur tremble. His hand hadn’t stopped its path though; it kept moving, the barest of brushes against his skin.  
  
“Well,” Timur started, licking his lips, “there’s nothing stopping you from doing that.”  
  
Maxim’s eyes widened, and Timur grinned.  
  
“All you had to do was ask,” he whispered against the hunter’s lips, and Maxim was on him, one hand cupping the back of his head while the other wrapped around his back, pulling them flush against each other. He kissed Timur like he was starving for it, and maybe he was; Maxim was rather affectionate, no matter how much he tried to deny it. A week of self-inflicted solitude had probably driven him insane.  
  
“I should have known,” Timur said between kisses, “that you’d be the possessive type.”  
  
Maxim hummed in answer, trailing his lips down Timur’s throat.  
  
“You could’ve just talked to me about it, though,” Timur continued.  
  
“Didn’t know what to say,” Maxim murmured against his skin. “Didn’t know what I was feeling, at first.”  
  
“Then show me.”  
  
Maxim turned and pressed Timur against the wall. He scrapped his teeth against one of the bruises, and Timur gasped, tilting his head to the side to give him more room. His hands were wandering now, slipping down Timur’s sides and then under his shirt, settling against his ribs. His thumb brushed over the scar left behind by the bullet several months ago, and Timur sighed into the next bite Maxim gave him.  
  
It was only a little surprising that he was getting hard. Under the sharp pain that came from Maxim’s teeth against his already tender skin there was a strong burn of arousal, and when one of Maxim’s hands slipped under his sweats and palmed against his erection he groaned, his hips pushing into the contact.  
  
“There’s a perfectly good bedroom down the hall,” Timur mentioned.  
  
“Why bother? It’s not like we have to worry about being caught.”  
  
He had a point.  
  
Another bite, and Maxim’s hand wrapped around Timur’s shaft, not moving yet. Timur thrust his hips into his grip and felt Maxim smile against his skin.  
  
“You’re so pretty, Timur.”  
  
An odd statement, given that Maxim’s face was buried in his neck. Still, he sounded pleased, and Timur bucked his hips against his hand again. Maxim pulled away from his neck, apparently satisfied with his work for the moment, and pressed a burning kiss to Timur’s lips, releasing his grip on Timur and using his hand to push his sweatpants and underwear down just enough to expose his dick. Maxim’s own sweatpants followed, and he pressed their cocks together, rutting against Timur.  
  
“I wish I could’ve killed the bastard who hurt you,” Maxim whispered. “I wish I could have spoon fed him his own intestines.”  
  
The image that sentence supplied should have made Timur pause, but instead he felt a hot wave of arousal shoot down his spine and weaken his knees. Watching Maxim fight was always an experience that Timur secretly enjoyed, and the thought of him doing it specifically to protect Timur was incredibly hot.  
  
He’d have to think about that. Later.  
  
“I can take care of myself, you know.”  
  
Maxim hummed, rocking harder against him.  
  
“I know. But I like fighting. Especially for you.”  
  
Maybe it wasn’t as much of a secret as he thought.  
  
Maxim’s mouth found his before he could say anything, and he wrapped his hand around both their cocks. Timur bucked eagerly into the grip, moaning into Maxim’s mouth. He was close, right on the edge of release, and he pulled away from Maxim to tell him as much.  
  
“Maxim, please.”  
  
Maxim hummed, rocking against him more fervently. He ducked his head down, scrapping his teeth against Timur’s neck before biting down, right in the center. Timur knocked his head against the wall as he threw it back, moaning low and long as he came. The rhythm of his hips faltered and cum coated Maxim’s hand and cock. Maxim groaned, giving a few more thrusts before he, too, came, growling Timur’s name.  
  
Timur sank back against the wall, panting as his brain began piecing itself back together. His neck burned and throbbed like it had been for a good part of the week; however, each pulse of pain was now accompanied by the memory of Maxim’s lips and teeth against his skin, rather than gloved hands.  
  
Maxim pressed a soft kiss against his throat, leaving a trail of them up to Timur’s lips. Timur wrapped his arms around Maxim, pulling him closer and sighing in the kiss.  
  
“Do you feel better now?” Timur asked.  
  
“Yes,” Maxim answered, nuzzling against Timur’s throat.  
  
They separated after a few more lingering kisses, cleaning up with paper towels and the kitchen sink. Maxim was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Shuhrat poked his head around the doorframe, glancing between the two of them.  
  
“Are you two…” he trailed off, his eyes lingering on Timur’s neck.  
  
“We’ve figured it out,” Timur said, taking a sip of his own, now much cooler, coffee.  
  
“Finally!” Alexsandr said, pushing past Shuhrat into the kitchen. “Though you look like you’ve been mauled by some sort of wild animal.”  
  
Timur raised an eyebrow, lifting his arm when Maxim slid next to him, giving him space to cuddle against his side.  
  
“Well,” Shuhrat started, coming to stand in front of them. He had a look on his face, a sort of hungry fixation as his eyes flicked between Timur’s face and neck.  
  
“Well?” Timur parroted.  
  
“It’d be a shame,” Shuhrat continued, “if we let Maxim have all the fun.”  
  
A charged silence fell around them. Shuhrat stepped closer, until he was pressed chest to chest with Timur. Alexsandr was crowding against his side, sandwiching Timur between him and Maxim.  
  
“He has a point,” Alexsandr rumbled, leaning down and nuzzling against Timur’s neck.  
  
Timur drank the rest of his coffee in one go, reaching to put the cup in the sink and then leaning back against the counter.  
  
“Come on then,” he said, grinning, “let’s see how many wild animals I can handle.”


End file.
